


Interview With A Mute

by Pippins_Mushr00ms



Category: Interview With the Vampire (1994), Pilgrimage (2017)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-03 13:16:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16326968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pippins_Mushr00ms/pseuds/Pippins_Mushr00ms
Summary: Crossover between Interview With a Vampire and Pilgrimage.This picks up about where the Mute's story 'ended'. Except it didn't.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not the title. I am frick awful at titles. Im sure it'll change lol

 

Interview With A Mute

* * *

_"You are dying,"_  a voice whispered, sounding far away.  _"Slowly."_

The Mute didn't think that was the voice in his head, but who knew? He nodded affirmation to whatever it was. The man forced his eyes open, but couldn't see past the blinding agony in his guts. They closed again on their own. His breath came in ragged gasps that pulled on his wounds.

It was all right. Diarmuid was safe and on his way to freedom. As long as he was unharmed, the Mute could rest in peace. The little monk saved his life all those years ago, it was only right that he die returning the favor.

The mute sighed softly, letting the image of his friend fill his mind's eye. The crash of waves reminded him of the last time they'd been on a beach together. He remembered chuckling when that mollusk snapped closed on his finger. The inexperienced cursing.

The mute allowed himself a small smile. The boy would be all right.

"Who is this 'Diarmuid'?" The voice interrupted softly, closer now.

A funny jolt ran through the Mute's body. He wasn't aware of saying his name aloud. He gritted his teeth and forced his eyelids apart.

The sun was low, but it hurt his eyes anyway. Squinting in the dusky light, floated a pale, pretty face, surrounded by flowing, amber hair. Sharp, blue eyes stared at him intently. Lower, he saw a lace ruff under the face's chin. A tight, shiny blue overcoat. More lace at the end of the sleeves. An overabundance of the flimsy fabric but well dressed, nonetheless.

"Who…" but the Mute's voice cracked and he had to stop.

"Is Darmuid someone precious to you?" The strange man asked, leaning over him.

The mute felt insolent tears prick at his eyes. Silently, he nodded once.

There was a long pause. Dazed, the mute watched black spots begin to dance at the edges of his vision. Was he alone again? Diarmuid had the monestary to take care of him, if he went back. The mute fervently hoped he went back.

"Do you wish to see this person again?"

"Of course I do," the mute desperately wanted to say, but he didn't trust his voice.

He didnt trust this stranger either, for that matter, but he found himself nodding, and closed his eyes when felt the hot tears finally betray him.

 _"I can help you,"_  whispered the man.

And he let the statement hang in the salt-washed air. The Mute's breath caught in his throat and he shook his head.

"No…" he rasped.

"Yes."

"He's…" the mute strained to see past the ocean's waves. "Too far…"

Talking made his, well,  _everything_  hurt. More than it already did. Fire from his abdomen and hip radiated like forge and he wanted to scream. He almost wanted to rip this stupid bolt out and just end it.

"Perhaps," mused the stranger, putting his finger to his chin. "But perhaps not."

The Mute took a shaky breath. He didn't dare hope. Not with these injuries. Each breath, he had to drag into his lungs. Honestly, he was so tired, it would be easier to just stop.

Whatever snake oil this person was selling, he wasn't buying.

"It's impossible," the mute gasped out, closing his eyes again.

_"Is it?"_

The mute had exactly three seconds before the man was on him.

He shoved his pretty face into the junction between his neck and shoulder. The Mute's blunt nails found no purchase on the back of smooth, satiny fabric that clothed him. He was too weak, anyway. Or the stranger was deceptively strong. Either way, he pinned the Mute's wrists back into the sand effortlessly.

Fresh pain washed through him, but he couldn't  _quite_  call it pain. It hurt, obviously, but the tongue lapping at the wound made the mute shudder in a most ungodly way.

 _'How ironic,'_  the mute thought dryly

As he swallowed thickly, he could almost taste the copper of De Merville's blood again.

The world went dark before the mute had a chance to panic.

* * *

NOTES: I have more, but i dk what to do with this. If anyone wants to beta, or something, that would be neato haha

 


	2. Chapter Two

 

 

 

Chapter Two

* * *

The Mute came to with a cry. He was moving, which seemed absurd. He swayed back and forth in a slow, steady rhythm. The man forced his eyelids apart and was surprised to see grass and trees instead of sand and ocean. It was dark, and he was doubly surprised to be balanced on a brown horse. The animal was being led by a stranger on his own white horse.

 _'Diarmuid!'_  he thought frantically, jerking his spine straight.

Then he remembered that the boy was in a boat far away and forced himself to relax. His entire body felt like it was on fire and a little moan escaped him.

"Awake so soon?" The swaying stopped abruptly.

The ex-mute mumbled something, slumping forward, hand pressed to his wound. Something sticky coated his fingers.

His body may have hurt, but it was nothing compared to the strange burning ache all the way to his core. He was lightheaded and thought he might vomit.

"Come now, tell me your name then, my oddly quiet friend."

"Liam," he ought to say, but something held him back. He'd broken his vow of silence anyway, but instead he just shook his head again.

"Very well, then," the man sighed. "Sleep."

An odd, shivery wave of pain rattled through him and the mute promptly passed out again.

* * *

This time, when the mute came to, he was quiet about it.

The first thing he noticed was the disgusting metal tang in his mouth did not deter his stomach. Briefly, he remembered swallowing hard, but he thought he'd dreamt the taste of blood.

The second thing he noticed was pressure about his waist. He looked down slowly, held the covers up and saw his bare torso swathed in bandages. They were white, and impeccably clean, as was his skin.

His head felt thick, stuffed full of cotton. He also thought, for just a moment, that he was floating on a cloud. Then he realized that no, he was being an idiot and that this was just one of the ponciest beds he'd ever been in.

Soft white pillows (far too many for his taste), white sheets, two or three white blankets, and a sky blue comforter covered him. The mattress was so soft he was nearly trapped in it. Ornate, carved wooden bedposts almost reached the blue painted ceiling.

The mute shoved the covers off him with a wince, wholly confused.

How was he not dead? That bolt should have killed him by now. He'd felt it shred his innards, hadn't he? And why would this stranger rescue him? At what benefit to Lestat?

The mute shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. 

Sitting up was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. Gasping softly, so as not to bring attention to himself should unwanted ears be listening, he maneuvered himself out of the too-cushy bed. Legs dangling over the edge, he took in his surroundings.

The big room was full of furniture that matched the ornateness of the bedframe. Dressers, wardrobe, tables (as in multiples) a washstand. There were no windows, only a closed elaborate door on the far side.

The only thing missing was his captor.

His captor.

With a jolt, the Mute's hand flew up to his neck, probing for wounds. Nothing, not even a puckered scar.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry," said a familiar voice. "Those wounds, at least, should be healed by now."

The mute startled badly, jumped to his feet and looked around wildly for a weapon. He struggled to control his painful breathing. 

The wounds on his neck had indeed healed. The hole in his gut, however, had not. He'd been aware of that upon waking.

"Come now, is that any way to treat a friend?" Lestat glided through the door he hadn't heard open.

He had his hair tied back in a loose tail now and was clad in a loose forest green tunic and black slacks.

"Why?" The mute asked, voice low.

"I'm sorry, 'why' what?" He asked innocently, moving closer.

The mute eyed him warily. Matched him step for step backwards. His hip throbbed with each stride. When his back touched the wall, he began sliding along it, towards one of the round tables in the center of the room.

An amused smile flitted across Lestat's features and he allowed the mute to get the table between them. He looked most almost delighted as he held up his empty palms to show he was unarmed.

"Why would you save me?"

"My dear boy, why  _wouldn't_  I?"

* * *

To be continued…


End file.
